


Under Your Spell

by GayLlamaFromSpace



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Curses, F/F, Lesbian Vampires, Magic, Vampires, Witches, be prepared to feel a shift in power dynamics, you and Alcina are on even footing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29732886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayLlamaFromSpace/pseuds/GayLlamaFromSpace
Summary: You were cursed to lie underneath a sacred tree for the rest of eternity, but when blood is spilt upon your resting place, the chains keeping you trapped beneath the earth disappear. You are free, and now you must become accustomed to a barely familiar world. Luckily, you stumble upon a castle seemingly trapped in time.(Basically, witch bitch meets sexy vampire)
Relationships: Lady Dimitrescu (Resident Evil) & Reader, Lady Dimitrescu (Resident Evil)/Reader
Comments: 34
Kudos: 297





	1. Dirt and Blood

The world is dark. It is cold, wet, and coarse. This is all you know, all you have known for longer than could even be known. Constant pressure, crushing weight, subterranean creatures of all kinds feasting on you’re forever re-growing flesh. In the beginning it was painless, your body nothing but a burnt husk meant to rot and become one with the earth. But a fate like that is too merciful. No, your skin muscles and bones mend themselves endlessly, you hadn’t the mind to care… until there was pain. You could feel the maggots digging into tender meat, your body becoming an eternal buffet for any creature that wishes to feast on you. The pain never ends after those first days, and it continues for what feels like forever. Perhaps it has been forever? There is no way to know, there is nothing but suffering.

The only comfort you have is your mind, but after so long you’ve all but lost it. You abandoned conscious thought long ago, all you have is memory. Snow, a name, a home… who you once were. These things had begun to fade, but there are many you would never forget. The memories that sealed your fate, your crimes and their punishment. Your crime had been your very existence, something seemingly so small, but with dire consequences. You remember the stoning, the drowning, the stretching, the trials and torture you endured for months. Every time you healed a new trial was conducted. Until the last one, the pyre… fire, screams, and then nothing. 

You had thought to yourself, ‘finally, it all can end’... but fate is cruel. It wasn’t the end, because when you awoke from your long, deathlike slumber, you were here. Your prison of dirt and suffering. You longed for the strength to move, to learn to breathe again. What has the world become? Is there still a world above your prison? Or has everything perished, much like you wish you could. But soon, even those glimpses of life faded to nothingness. 

The trials, witch trials. Many women who suffered them were innocent, most were just unfortunate souls who couldn’t escape the wrath of their fellow man. But no, you were so lucky to be a falsely accused young woman doomed to die. A real witch could never be so fortunate. What had you done to catch their attention again? Ah, now you remember, the girl. This girl, she was precious to you… probably? Important enough to save at least. You could have let her die that night, but you didn’t. But why was the girl in danger… someone was after her? No, something. It was big, right?… you can’t recall. The girl had smelled of blood, she was coated in it. It was so strong, so potent - like now - the creature wanted it desperately. Wait, like now… you inhale. You can breath! 

There’s a jerk in your consciousness, a sudden strength in your body. Before you can truly register what you’re doing, you are crawling desperately for the surface, the smell of blood fueling your every movement. It’s so hard to move, but the invisible chains keeping you trapped are gone. It’s like you’ve been reborn when you feel snow. The feeling is almost foreign, but unmistakable. Freedom, something impossible, is so close.

The smell of blood grows stronger as you climb, but it’s like a slap in the face when your face breaks through the surface. A deep breath. Air, real air, and snow! Your eyes fly open, an expression of glee breaking across your face. Light, for the first time in forever, makes its way into your eyes and blinds you. But you do not complain, no, the feeling of unseeing eyes adjusting to harsh light is the best sensation to be felt as of yet. With all the strength left your body, you free yourself entirely from the soil. Freedom, a mercy that fate has granted you.

Your eyes, after a long while, adjust to the world around you. It is night, and the moon shines brightly in the sky, illuminating the snow with it’s pale light. You catch sight of the very thing that freed you from your prison - blood. The crimson mars the perfect snow beautifully, and like the starving soul you are, you lunge towards the reddened snow and eat it with an animalistic vigor. That is until you see the bleeding, dying body leaning against the tree you once lay under. The stranger looks at you with horror, and all you can do is smile madly at them. You approach slowly, on your hands and knees, your breaths coming out long and ragged.

When you reach the stranger, you begin to recognize them as masculine. You reach your him, your arm is full of holes, oozing blood. The skin is nearly non-existent, and you can see your bones in some places. Your decrepit hand grabbed hold of the man’s trembling body, and you climbed yourself carefully into his lap. Your other hand raises to caress his paling face. With a raspy laugh you begin to attempt speaking.

“I need to thank you young man,” you say in a scratchy voice, “you’ve done me a great service… so I will help you.” The man looks hopeful for a moment, but still terrified. You lean in towards his neck, just below his ear, and breath in deep. With a hum you press your hands to his shoulders and whisper in his ear.

“I grant you the mercy of death.” The man is about to protest, but before he can utter a word you sink your teeth into his neck, chomping down with as much strength as can me mustered and tear a chunk away. Quickly, you grab hold of his hair and tear his head from his shoulders. He is dead, and his blood is flowing freely from where his dead once was. You cup your hands beneath where the blood is flowing collecting it. You drink from him for what could be hours, until every last bit of his blood is gone.

When you’ve had your fill, you stand, using the tree to support you. The maggots that once made their home in your body writhe around seeking the comfort of their new host. Your body, once resembling that of a rotting corpse, is now unblemished and fully healed. Every torn muscle, hole, and hollowed bone are just as perfect as they were meant to be. You still ache with hunger, but you are hydrated.

Experimental steps are taken, one foot in front of the other, and you walk for the first time. Following the trail of blood left by your meal is simple enough, and the long trek to what you hope is society begins. The sounds of the night startle you, but as the trek carries on, you begin to find comfort in the sounds. A tune once forgotten finds itself in your mind, and returns itself to the world from your mouth. Gleeful laughter fills the air as you begin to pick up the pace and run.

You stop suddenly when you see a castle, it’s glorious. The sheer majesty of it has you in awe. You stand starring for who knows how long, trying to capture every possible detail. Your eyes catch on one of the windows, someone is standing there looking out into the wondrous night. You know they are looking at you, even if you can’t see it, you can feel the eyes. All you can see in the window is a rather large figure clad in white. You plan to watch them until they disappear, but you are stolen from your staring contest by the doors of the castle opening, bathing you in warm golden light. A small woman rushes from within a large blanket in her arms.

The woman is frantic and coos over you as she wraps you in the blanket and ushers you inside. The promise of warmth, food and clothing are enough to have you walking towards the castle without resistance. When you look back to the window, the figure is gone. You frown to yourself, bowing your head and letting the adrenaline fade. You know the fear in the woman holding you is not just for your safety, there is a deep terror within her. You pay it no mind.


	2. Bathtime

The outside of the castle had been incredible, and the inside was just as wondrous. The woman walks you down many winding hallways, and every one of them is just as enthralling as the last. There are accents of gold and deep mahogany everywhere. Everything is spotless, shining as if brand new. The carpets beneath your feet are plush and beautifully patterned, but now becoming marred with bloody footprints. You’d never seen anything quite like it, all you’d ever known was the rotting floors of your cottage outside the village you once called home. 

The village… could it still be around? What of your family, the girl. You remember seeing this castle from a distance, but had never paid it mind. Now you were in it, walking in the steps of those who had been royalty to you. You can remember as a child seeing the Lord of the castle, a cruel man really, he spared the village very little. But he kept the village in repair, he made sure his subjects were fed. We never asked for more, least he unleashed his wrath. You wonder what happened to him… what was his name again… Darius right? Yes, and he had a son named Cristian.

“Who is the lord of this castle?” you say slowly, language is going to be difficult it seems. The woman jumps at the sudden spark of conversation, but quickly collects herself. The maid looks around the hall quickly before answering - clearly she does not wish to be heard… how peculiar.

“There is no lord, the Lady is the sole monarch of this castle.” The woman says timidly, slight timber to her words. This gives you pause. ‘A Lady? No Lord?.... How long has it been…’ You nod your understanding, and as you turn the next corner ask another question.

“Who is she? Has her husband passed? Has she no sons?” You say. The woman looks at you like you’ve got two heads, and bites her lip. Shaking her head with furrowed brows. Her heart rate has increased. 

“She is Lady Alcina Dimitrescu, and she has three daughters. Now please, no more questions.” The woman practically begs. You frown and let out a deep sigh. At least she answered two of your questions, but that just gives you more. You will find out, you just need time and rest. The two of you walk in tense silence for a few more minutes, but eventually arrive at an open door.

The woman escorts you into the room and closes the door. There is a roaring fireplace lit, and across from it a sizable bed. The blankets appear plush and expensive. The woman leads you to a door within the room, and after she opens it you are greeted by the sight of a beautifully furnished bathing room. The tub itself is a work of art, pure white porcelain and golden… things attached to it. She approaches the tub and turns a knob, and water starts coming out of the thing on the tub. ‘It’s like a fancy well’ you think to yourself. You step over to the tub and touch the running water, only to retract your hand in surprise. The water is warm… but it’s the middle of winter, and there’s no boiling pot. It must be magic!  
Once the tub has filled, the woman turns off the “magic well” and gestures for you to get into the tub. You drop the blanket and clumsily crawl into the tub, lightly splashing into the warm water. There seems to be one good thing that comes with being trapped underground for who knows how long - a warm bath that requires no more than the turn of a handle. Times have definitely changed if mortals have started using magic on such mundane items. You move your arms around in the tub playfully, slapping your hands at the surface of the water a few times for good measure. You missed this feeling.

The woman collects a sponge and some soap and hands them to you. You awkwardly begin to bathe, unsure of how exactly to do this without looking strange. You have bathed before, just never in an environment like this. The tub itself had been rather small, and made of wood, and you rarely had any actual soap. But you make due, albeit quite poorly. Despite your constant fumbling`, eventually the maid seems satisfied with your work and takes the sponge away. She returns with two bottles and is about to hand them to you, but your look of confusion seems to change her mind. She instead kneels behind you and begins to wash your hair herself.

It’s very soothing, and the smell of the substance she’s using is amazing. You can’t quite place the smell, having not smelled much else but dirt for a while, but you know that you like it. The feeling of her hands on your scalp is soothing, and you lean into her hands like an affectionate puppy. There's a squeak, and her hands are out of your hair. What’s wrong? You turn to look at her questioningly, but when you do she is pale in the face and seems to be fighting the urge to vomit. You follow her eyes, low and behold, some of your little friends decided to stick around. On the rim of the tub there is a lone maggot wriggling around. A few more float in the water around you.

You pick up the little parasite from the side of the tub, and crush it between your fingers. A petty revenge for all those years, but no less satisfying. Carefully, you collect the maggots that have found themselves in your now bloody bathwater. You kill each and every one of them with a childish glee. It’s after you’ve killed all the maggots that the maid decides to return to your hair. Because of how disgusting the water had gotten, she forced you to take a second bath right after the first. Though you don’t complain.

When the woman has finished assisting you with your second bath, she leaves you in the bath alone for a few moments. She returns with a towel and helps you out of the tub before passing it on to you. She says that she will return with some clothing, and that you should dry off and brush your hair in the meantime. You struggle for about seven minutes trying to brush your hair, but eventually you manage to get it neatish. You look in the mirror for a long time, not recognizing the person looking back. You vaguely remember how you once were, but you are paler than you should be and near emaciated. Clearly blood can only do so much.

The woman returns with your clothing and helps you get dressed. You are wearing a simple flowing gown with long wide sleeves, the dress itself is an almost yellowy shade of white and reaches just below your ankles. You are wearing uncomfortable undergarments, but the material’s quality makes up for the strange design. You are given heels to wear, they’re a little too big, and you can barely stand in them. Funny how you’ve just relearned how to walk and now you’re forced to wear heels that don’t even fit.

“The lady of the castle requires your presence at dinner,” the woman begins, smoothing out a few misplaced wrinkles in your dress. “I will escort you there.” You nod your head, and follow after her as she leads you from the room. Your second trek down the halls of the castle leads you to an interesting observation , the whole castle smells of blood. Not fresh blood, the smell isn’t that strong, but it lingers in the air. Something is amiss, which could explain why the maid is so timid and jumpy. 

Everything reeks of death and dread. Only a few hours back to the world and your magic is ebbing back to life. You’ve missed the feeling. The flow of energy through and around you, ready for interpretation and manipulation. Not yet though, it’s far too soon, you will have to wait much longer for spellcasting. But the feeling of it alone is enough to make your face crack in an all too wide grin, which earns you a wary glance from your chaperone.

You and the maid approach a pair of large double doors. She knocks on the door curtly, and barely a second later a sultry yet commanding voice beckons you inside. The maid opens the door and nudges you inside before closing it right back behind you. You look up to find the tallest, and most gorgeous woman you have ever seen standing at the head of the long dining table. She wears a white dress that hugs at her curves perfectly, a low U-neck revealing boundless amounts of cleavage. The giant of a woman wears a large black hat as well. Her skin is inhumanly pale, having an almost greyish hue, and her eyes seem to glow gold. Her lips are painted scarlet and smirk knowingly at you.

“Welcome maiden, come sit with us, we won’t bite” the woman says, flashing a smile. You stand frozen in place for a few moments, looking around at the others seated at the table. There are three young women clad in black, looking at you like you’re some kind of roast pig. Once you meet the tall woman’s gaze again, you notice that she is wearing an expression of impatience. Quickly you make your way to the table and sit at her side, where a chair was already pulled out for you.


	3. Dining With Dimitrescu

“Now,” the Lady of the castle begins, taking her seat at the head of the table. “I do hope you’re hungry.” She looks at you, her golden eyes piercing into your own. There is an obvious amount of interest written on her face, you can tell by the way her lips curl slightly upward. There’s a glint in her eyes, and even her perfectly plucked brows are raised a bit. You take your time looking at her, but never stray from her eyes. The staring contest is resumed, but this time you win when her expression sours and she looks away. ‘Ha! Take that!’ you think to yourself, a victorious smile slipping on your face. You are distracted from your minor victory by the tingling of a bell.

You snap your head to the source of the sound, your gaze quickly finding a young woman standing at the lady’s side. This maid looks different. Her outfit is similar to your own, white and flowing. The only difference is the white necklace adorning her neck, there is an ovular red stone in the center of it. Around the crimson gem are twelve tiny black gems embedded in the gold head of the collar. The piece is magnificent, and undoubtedly expensive. Why would a little maid wear something like that? What makes her so special? 

You lose yourself staring at the girl, only noticing the new presences in the room by the smell. And the smell, oh the smell is divine. You shift your attention towards it instead, finding trays of food being carefully placed on the table before you. Leaning forward, you brace your hands against the edge of the table. You breath heavily through your nose savoring the scent, most of it you no longer recognize, but you can tell it will be delicious. You lick your lips and can feel your mouth watering almost painfully, causing you to have to swallow the excessive amount of saliva.

The snapping of fingers deviates you from your current fixation, which in all honesty is quite rude. Is it a crime to be hungry? To be in awe of such service? Honestly, what is this giant woman’s deal? Slowly you turn your head to glare at your host. She doesn't seem to like that very much.

“I suggest you wipe that look from your face, or you will go right back where you came from.” the Countess snaps, sporting her own glare. Her statement sends a bolt of panic through you. Where you came from… she couldn’t possibly know - she couldn’t put you back could she?! You begin to panic slightly, your head hung low and wide eyes focusing on the table below you. How stupid can you be, thinking that you could find sanctuary here. The lady probably knows well who you are, you recognize the name right? She had to have been alive when you were imprisoned. She couldn’t know you otherwise, and you still don’t know how long it’s been!

“The little rabbit is scared of going back into the snow! How cute,” a new voice says.Just the snow? They don’t know… thank the stars. You flick your eyes up to look at the source of the voice, and meet eyes with a smug looking blonde. Interesting… she looks familiar. The young mistress carries a lethal kind of chaos in her, you can tell by the near madness in her eyes. Eyes which share the same gold as the lady of the castle. They have no other features in common, so the girl must take after her father… is her father the Lord of this castle? Former lord. What happened to him that left a woman in charge.

Three daughters, no sons. Surveying the rest of the table, you see the other two aforementioned daughters. It seems all three carry the yellow-eyed gene… yet only one of the three seem to share their mother’s dark hair. You don’t remember any of the lords of your time having blonde hair, so that would mean it’s been a few lifetimes, right? Or… are these girls even related to the lady? So many things must have changed for this to be allowed, heiresses of no blood-relation. Strange. 

“Yes, how very adorable.” the giantess says, drawing your attention back to her. She must really like the spotlight. “What is your name little rabbit?” her tone is teasing. Your name, it’s been so long since you’d used it that you’d almost forgotten it. Would it be smart to give this stranger your name? They have power, the towering woman already has too much of it, what could she do with your name. Nothing, you idiot, she probably wouldn’t be able to do much if she tried. It’s only a first name anyways, your last name has no relevance..

“Y/N” you grumble, not really wanting to talk when you could be stuffing your face instead. For this being a dinner, there isn’t much eating going on, and the food is right there! Are they doing this on purpose, teasing you with starvation? At this rate you may very well start gnawing at your own arms. 

As if the supposed god has decided to part the clouds and shower the world in heavenly light, a plate of ardei umpluți is set in front of you. For just a moment you are reminded of what life had been before, the holidays, but that thought is quickly pushed away.

The steam rising off of the meal before you was intoxicating. Before any other thought could surface, you have grabbed a scorching stuffed pepper and are shoving it into your mouth. You take a massive bite, and chew it painfully, the inside of your mouth burning. You don’t have the mind to care, your hunger is far too intense to be swayed by something so minor as a little pain. There is silence as you eat, stuffing all manner of food into your face and barely chewing before scarfing it down. To say you were making a mess of your plate would be an understatement. You’ve gone through half of your second helping, and you can see the titan of a woman beside you open her mouth to say something. She is thankfully interrupted though.

“Oh hell yes! Bring it on rabbit!” the blonde from before exclaims, digging into her own meal. The young woman tears through her suspicious steak with animalistic glee, a deep red sauce spilling out into her plate and smearing around her mouth. It must be coated in a cherry sauce. You can’t smell much over the food separating you from the blonde, so you can’t confirm. As you eat, your eyes wander to the rest of your company. The brunette is looking at the feasting blonde with an incredulous expression, while the other, obviously younger, blonde is seemingly trying not to laugh at you and her sister.

When your gaze falls upon the lady, her lips are pursed and her eyes are closed. She takes a deep breath in through her nose and slowly lets it out. Irritation is written all over her face. Her eyes glow with ire as she opens them to look upon you. Her silent judgement doesn’t last more than a few moments - she hasn’t touched a thing on her plate.

“At the very least you could keep your mess on your own plate.” the mistress strains, nostrils flaring slightly. You look briefly at your mess, and then back at her. Having the sudden urge to be a complete and utter pain in her ass, you give her an unsettlingly wide smile and exaggeratedly flare your own nostrils before returning to your feast. You were about to take a bite but are halted by a sharp tug of your hair. 

With a near sinful exclamation, your head is yanked backwards. The tall woman is standing, her large hand in your hair, and eyes burning with malice In another context you might find this situation quite enticing, truly. A tall, shapely, woman with a fist tugging your hair? Her face roughly a foot from your own, the smell of her perfume overpowering every other smell in the room? The feeling of her fresh, cool, breath blowing into your face through painted blood colored lips… oh yes. This would be perfect, if you weren’t currently trying to eat. Eat food, not other things. That is something that could, and probably should, be thought on later.

“If you are going to eat like an animal, then by all means, eat like one.” the lady growls in your face, pulling you up from your chair. Your scalp strains agonizingly at the violent action, causing you to cry out in pain. You are tossed to the floor as if you weigh no more than the air in your lungs. Gently you rub your head, tears welling up in your eyes. There is a sharp clatter and splatting sound. When you look up, you find that your plate has been dropped onto the floor. You turn your head to look at the towering mistress, but your face is forced into the ruined meal in front of you.

“Eat your food. All of it, not a single drop is to be left on the floor.” You hear from above you, the hand on your head retracting itself. You hear a brief clack of heels and the scrapping of the lady’s chair across the floor. You wait for a few scant seconds before doing as told. Clearly you’ve toed the line too much tonight, the lady of the castle has very little patience. Nice to know. But you do wonder why she didn’t retaliate this way sooner, was she really that surprised by your behavior? That couldn’t be it though, perhaps she had been waiting for the right moment to put you in your place.

The desire to eat has left you after the lady’s cruel treatment, thought you can’t say you haven’t dealt with worse. With the pyres and all. Doesn’t mean you can’t be upset about it, especially since you now have to eat off of an undoubtedly filthy floor - if the thin layer of dust isn’t proof enough. Why would the floors be dirty at all? There is clearly a castle staff, but not having enough personnel could be the reason. Perhaps that is why the titan of a woman allowed you into her castle to begin with, maybe she needed more maids on her staff. 

It seems logical enough. Invite the freezing stranger into your home, bathe them, clothe them, feed them. It is within reason that the lady could ask you to repay her with your service. She couldn’t have gone to this trouble out of the kindness of her heart, if you know anything about this woman by now, it’s that she is not benevolent. This begs the question as to why she is understaffed, most women in the village were desperate for a position in the castle when you were… around. What changed? Were the villagers weary of a woman running such a prestigious castle? Back in the olden days - which you assume them to be, seeing as how clearly no one recognizes you - the village had no love for Lord Darius and his son, but they still jumped at the chance to work for them.

From above you, you can hear the idle chatter of the family sitting at the table. They are discussing wine production. So the castle Dimitrescu is still in the wine business, so many things have remained the same, yet have changed so much. The lady mentions a wine called “sanguis virginis”. Maiden's blood? Now that is an interesting name for wine. Your attention is piqued, so you refocus it from your task to the conversation taking place at the table..

“Mother, after this year’s harvest, we will have plenty of wine to spare post delivery.” You hear one of the daughters say. It can’t have been the blonde, this voice was deeper, more formal. A part of you wishes to look up so that you can put the voice to a face, but you know doing so would be too obvious.

“Good, though that doesn’t mean we should gorge ourselves on the leftovers. Hide the rest from Daniela so that we may let it age longer.” the lady of the house says. You can hear the smile in her voice at the last part.

“Mother!” the blonde scoffs. So she is called Daniela, how wonderful. A chuckle escapes the countess, followed by the giggles of the two other ladies. A soft voice speaks up this time.

“Daniela, if you weren’t such a glutton we wouldn’t have to hide it!” the softer voice says through her laughter. You pause listening in on the conversation for a moment when you realize that you are licking the bare floor. You scrunch up your nose and move on to another part of the mess. This is utterly shameful.

“And you aren’t Adaline? Tell me, what happened to mother’s favorite bottle of Nigrum Cerasus?” Daniela says accusingly. So this Adaline drank a bottle of a wine called Black Cherry? These ladies really do like their fancy latin names.

“Dani! That was thirty years ago!” Adaline protests. Thirty years? But all of the girls look so young, none of them can be older than twenty four. Unless… the magic tub… could these women be witches too? What about their mother though? She doesn’t seem like a witch, unless her height is the result of a spell. Could it have been an alteration spell? Illusion? The more time you spend here the more questions you end up having.

“I don’t think it matters either way, you are the one who never stops.” The unnamed voice says, clearly talking to Daniela.

“Maureen is correct darling,” Lady Dimitrescu says, leaving no room for argument. So the blonde is Daniela, and the other two are Adaline and Maureen.

You have finished clearing the floor of your food, even picked up some dust along the way! Of course, the lady isn’t paying you any mind, so you are forced to stay kneeled on the floor until she notices you’ve finished.

“Speaking of Nigrum Cerasus, I think I may make another batch” you can practically hear the sickening smirk in the woman’s words. This doesn’t sound good at all.

“Tell us when, and we will avoid the east wing as long as you need mother.” Maureen states matter-of-factly. So this wine requires privacy to make? How special can it be? Is it imbued with some spell that only the countess knows? That would make sense actually, that is if this woman is a witch. You are pulled from your thoughts by another ringing of the bell. Servants return to the dining hall and begin collecting the uneaten food and cleared dishes. The maid that had helped you prepare for dinner bends down to grab your plate from the floor, but is stopped by the countess.

“Leave it, you are to take the girl to her chambers and help her prepare for bed.” She says, her voice cold, a dizzying change from how she had spoken to her daughters. There is a hushed “yes my lady”, and you feel a small tug on the sleeve of your dress beckoning you to stand. And so you do, slowly, and on shaky legs. You really need to get used to moving around. The maid leads you from the dining room, but you can feel eyes on your back, despite your better judgement you chance a look over your shoulder. You meet the Lady’s eyes for the last time that night, before having your view blocked by the closing doors.


	4. Ice and Mint

It’s always so much colder during the winter months, not that spring or summer are too much better. The appearance of grass this far in the mountains is rarer than a ruby. But that doesn’t matter to the work that must be done. There could be a blizzard and yet the work wouldn’t stop, just relocate. Tending to the livestock would happen in the barn rather than in the field, outdoor housing repairs would be postponed in favor of working in the interior, and the baking would never stop.

What you call home could be considered no more than a modest cottage. Near ancient stone walls, slowly rotting logs holding the structure together. A floor of creaky planks and squealing shutters to cover the glassless windows. You live here with your mother, she is a seamstress, a weaver of many things. Things that are precious, and things that are forbidden. For the folk of the very near village she weaves cloth into clothing and blankets. For you, her child, she weaves a web of spells.

Witches, hiding in plain sight since relocating from the southern parts of Romania. Your father couldn’t come, he had another family, and obligations to them. He did not want you, nor your mother. But that’s okay, you would outlast him anyways, such is the curse of the witch. To outlive the mortals around you. You had once had a higher purpose, to be a teacher and protector of man. But man does not like to be protected, not when they too cannot hold the power a witch does. So they hunt witches, and so you must hide.

You have spent your years in this village since you were a babe, being raised as a formidable young spell caster. And you were, you were brilliant, powerful, a natural talent. You mastered the craft easily, the bare fundamentals giving you enough knowledge to create your own path of knowledge. 

“Y/N, what is the first rule of magic” your mother asked you every Sunday, and every Sunday you would reply. “Magic cannot come from nothing, you must use what is already there.” She was proud of you. Her little witchling. 

During the darkest parts of the year you were never bothered, it was too cold for the mortals. So in the past you would practice with your mother. Helping her weave, healing pricks in her aging fingers. Aging, such a strange thing for witches who have passed on to adulthood, who have mastered their craft. ‘You will outlive the mortals around you’, it truly is a curse, when your mother has given up her youth to create a life. Your life. All witches know that bearing a child would steal away their eternal life. Some find loopholes, some forfeit motherhood as a whole.

You knew one day she would leave you, and one day you may want to carry on her legacy with you brown witchling, but she saw in you a different fate. One she never dared speak of. All she’d ever dare say is this,

“You will love unconditionally, and many folk will ridicule you, call it impure. But there is nothing more pure than love.” You held her words to your heart the first time you truly understood what she meant. She was a girl in the village. Her hair was the color of straw, her eyes like the darkest wood known to man. She was the shepherd's daughter, and was to marry the blacksmith’s son. It had been him who noticed the way you look at her. 

“Keep your wicked eyes off of her,” he had said one day. You were pinned to the walls of one of the many buildings in the village. “Repent unto god for your sinful urges.” you had done nothing. Nothing but watch from across the street, smile and wave to her. Had you been that obvious? Clearly. You didn’t visit that part of the village for a long time after that.

Aside from that one instance, life was calm, pleasant. The lords of Dimitrescu were providing less and less for the village every year, but the people have always been independent. Word of the young lady Heisenberg-Beneviento and young lord Cristien Dimitrescu’s betrothal had reached the village during the early spring. The lady would be joining the Dimitrescus during the summer months, as it is with all upper class betrothals. 

Though the politics of your Counts affairs mattered little to you. No, what mattered was ensuring your withering mother was taken care of. In the middle of a small blizzard, that is hard to do. Your journey to the village had been simple enough, thanks to your magic. You had redirected the flow of the wind so that it would pass around you, rather than attempt going through you. Through the thick billowing snow you could see the butcher’s shop.

You were at the steps when you heard something to your right. For a moment you stood still, listening, then you heard it again. Carefully, you lowered your shields, and crashing on top of you like an avalanche is cold, terrified, panic. A little girl is caught in the snow. Her mind and voice are screaming for someone to save her. You hesitate, but only for a second. Carefully you search for her, letting your mind’s eye lead you as you walk. You scan the never ending white for the child, but you cannot see her. She is nearby, you can feel it.

An invisible wire tugs you to the right. The snow is moving there. Quickly you drop to your knees and start digging, soon you clear away enough snow to see the child’s face. Her lips are purple and her face is flushed an alarming shade of red. You continue to dig until she is completely free. You check her pulse, and she’s alive.

Out of nowhere you are tackled to the ground by a heavy force. The thing knocks the air from your lungs. With as much strength as you can muster, you force the wind against the creature lifting it off of you enough to scramble out from underneath it. Upon closer inspection you realize exactly what it is - a werewolf. You let the wind free and drop the wolf back down. You freeze it’s feet to the ground, hoping that the ice will hold it long enough.

You return to the girl and pick her up, cradling her to your chest. With a tremendous amount of effort, you run to the butcher’s, using the wind to propel you forward. When you get to the door, it’s locked. You bang on it violently, glancing at the struggling werewolf every few seconds. It freed one of it’s paws! In a moment of impulse and fear, you slam the door open using your magic and rush inside. The butcher stands by the fire with wide eyes and a shotgun in his hands. You carefully take the girl to him, he takes her, a look of fear in his eyes. From outside you hear the creature escape it’s impromptu binds with a deafening roar. You take that as your que to leave.

Running back out into the blizzard, you come face to face with the werewolf. The large burly creature stands at least 10 feet tall. Its fur coated body is thick with muscle, the claws of it’s near humanoid hands are sharper than those of any normal wolf. These creatures aren’t supposed to be here, not this during this time of year. You had heard the warning from the village elders to beware of the wolven beasts of the wood. But this is not the woods, this is the middle of a village. Your village. This creature is not welcome.

The wolf charges recklessly, fueled by nothing but bloodlust and rage. That is it’s first mistake. Swiftly as you can manage, you duck under it’s lunging form and freeze the snow between its legs, sliding across the newly formed ice and successfully evading the hound’s attack. Now behind it, you jump up and turn to face it’s back. Taking a deep breath in through your nose, you draw your arms to your sides. As the beast is about to turn around, you sharply raise your hands above your head forcing the breath out through your mouth. The snow beneath the werewolf shoots to the sky and freezes, a large spike of ice stabbing the werewolf through the chest.

The hound yelps pitifully, and falls limp on the frozen spike. It’s blackened blood coated the protruding end of the spike, and spills to the once pure snow like ink. The weight of the body forces it further and further down the ice until it lays flat on solid ground. The deed is done, and you’re so… so very tired…. You collapse into the snow, blinking between void and storm until all that is left is a resounding quiet.

\--------------------

You awaken with a gasp on your lips, a lighter darkness filling your vision. You roll onto your back, throwing an arm over your tired eyes. A part of you wishes to remain in bed, the silken sheets are smooth on your skin, and the mattress is too comfortable to just abandon. Deep down though, you know that you must rise. You are a guest in a castle, and seeing as how you had already angered your host the night prior, you figured you may as well try being less of a nuisance today.

Lying in bed for a few more moments, you ponder on your dream. Or rather, memory. You should have let the girl die, let the werewolf tear through the village. You could have prevented so much pain. Not just for yourself, for your mother too. You grimace at the thought, your jaw clenched. She was so weak, frail and already dying, yet they did those things to her. She was fortunate to die, perhaps she knew she would suffer. Maybe she knew that damning herself to mortality would prove a blessing rather than a curse. 

It’s silly to think that she would know. She would have told you had she known, found a way to save you. But no one could save you, not even yourself. With all that power, you could do nothing to stop them. Why were you so weak? The trials are a blur, you need more time. Your stomach loosens a grumble and you are faced once again with that dreaded hunger. This is what finally makes you leave the bed.

Carefully, you rise from the mattress and plant your feet on the ground. You stand on shaky legs for a moment, then walk to the connected bathroom. The thin nightgown you wear is itchy, it seems that the mistress has seen it fit to refrain from giving you the small comforts of quality clothing. Upon a counter in the bathing room is a pile of folded laundry, a small note placed atop them. You grab the note, your name is on the front. You unfold it and attempt to read it out loud.

“You… ahree? Oh, are” You struggle. You let out a frustrated puff of air and read the note over a few times before trying again. “You are to… bathee, and pull the leeveer by the door?” you furrow your brows in confusion. Yet another thing you must re-learn - how to read. There is a knock on the door, quickly followed by someone walking in. When you turn around, you see that the collared woman from dinner is there.

“You slept late,” she says, her hands folding together in front of her. “But the mistress has chosen to forgive you, this once.” she continues. You just stare at her blankly. How could the lady expect you to wake up any earlier? No roosters had cawed, no bells had been tolled.

“Can you read this for me?” you ask the girl. She pauses for a moment before walking over and taking the note. She reads over it and frowns, before folding it back up and sticking it in her pocket.

“You were supposed to take a bath and ring for one of the maids when you had finished.” The woman explains. You nod, and the girl brushes past you towards the tub and begins filling it, sticking her hand in the water before turning another knob and coming back to you.

“The Lady had planned to tutor you herself, but your tardiness changed her mind. I will be accompanying you to a late breakfast in her stead,” she says. The maiden approaches the tub and turns off the water, before taking a bottle from one of the cabinets and bumping its contents into the water. A strong smell begins to fill the room, different from the aroma used last night. This one had a deep freshness to it as opposed to the floral. Minty in nature, potent, nearly intoxicating. You scrunch your nose up at the pungent smell of it.

“Her ladyship was unhappy with your scent, you smelt too much of death for her taste. This should chase the stench away.” She muses, a small smile crossing her face. She finds amusement in your suffering it seems. Is that even her place as a servant? Is it your place to question such a thing would be a better question. You have been in this castle for well over 24 hours, and yet you still don’t know why. Perhaps that is to be learnt today. 

The maiden retracts her arms from stirring the bath water and dries them on a plush towel. Carefully she rolls her sleeves back down her arms and corrects her barely wrinkled skirts. Which, by the way, are not the same as last night's ensemble. Instead of the loose flowing gown, she wears a conservative dress, a high collar cover all but the choker around her neck. The material is a pale blue, with embroidered white and yellows. It stands out in stark contrast to everything you’ve seen in the castle. It is meant to catch one’s attention. Why the Lady would have a servant wear something like that is beyond you.

Unless the girl is more than a handmaiden? A companion perhaps? A doll to dress up and show off would fit the bill much better. A toy to be played with, something pretty for the matriarch to look at. If the purple marks hiding under the girl’s collar are anything to go by, perhaps the young woman is meant to be touched as well, rather than simply admired. A toy indeed.

“Bathe, call for me once you’ve finished,” the handmaiden forces out, growing self-conscious under your attentive gaze. You nod your assent and watch as she hurriedly leaves the room. As you peel the wool shift off of your body, you think to yourself of the lady and her peculiarity. A fondness for the fairer sex, an indulged fondness.


End file.
